


Infidelity

by Talc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Infidelity, Cultural Differences, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Polyamory, reference needless violence, systematic racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/Talc
Summary: Lavellan watches as the assassin's hood is removed, almost immediately connecting her palm with her face, even before the man speaks."What?" He says in an all too familiar tone. "No kiss hello?"





	Infidelity

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a lot of inquisitor lavellans are siblings sort of stories, but I was thinking about it and like...what if they were married? Also just a demonstration of my two very different inquisitors in my two different playthroughs (which explains why their names are similar). And just generally tom fuckery, because who doesn't need needless violence and cheap jokes?

Contrary to popular belief, the title of Inquisitor was more of a name than anything else. Inquisitor Lavellan hardly ever sat around filling out paperwork or actually thinking about the impending end of the world. Mostly, she runs around the countryside ‘killing random strangers’, as Dorian likes to put it. More so, closing Fade Rifts and kicking ass, a set of daggers and a glowy hand when needed.

Yet, she was still seen as the leader of the Inquisition, so when people need to be judged, she is supposed to be the one to do it. It’s a horrible job, mostly because her solutions to problems are things like ‘we need more trees, he can plant them’ and ‘can this guy replace Cullen? Goats are much more efficient than trebuchets’, which Josie thinks are horrible ideas, so the Inquisitor must choose ‘appropriate punishment’ that don’t involve fire or reckless labour they don’t even really need, which is booooorrrringgggg.

Spoilsport.

She likes sitting on the throne, though. Its design is based off the Free Marches, and makes her feel like the savage all their stupid shemlen noble allies thinks she is. Go big or go home.

“This is an unusual case, Inquisitor.” Josephine’s voice breaks through the Inquisitor’s thoughts. Oh, right, she was doing a judgement thing right now. “This man arrived at Skyhold threatening to…Uh…’murder you and sell your dead corpse into slavery.’ We thought you might want to…Judge him.” Josie seems particularly confused by this case, maybe even a little more than with the goat.

“You forgot the part where I said I’d buy back her corpse and feed it to the nugs.” A wry voice says from below Lavellan. She looks down, seeing four guards holding a man in a heavy cloak.

“Quiet, you!” One of the guards hiss, jostling the man a bit.

“What did the nugs do to deserve my dead body?” The Inquisitor says, frowning. “They’re not exactly capable of anything malicious enough for giving them such a punishment.” Her voice is teasing and light. The man snorts.

“I was merely hoping your supple flesh would provide them with valuable protein.”

Lavellan full out snorts at this, laughing loudly. “I like this guy, can we recruit him?” She looks at Josephine, who does not look amused.

“He threatened to kill you!” She argues, throwing a hand out to gesturing to the prisoner.

“Artfully!” The Inquisitor argues.

“I’d listen to the nice lady, Inquisitor. Seems like she’s smarter than you.” The man quips, and in that moment Lavellan recognises his voice. She scowls and gestures to a guard to pull off the man’s hood, revealing a Dalish elf kneeling before her, grinning like they’re sharing a secret joke, which they are.

The Inquisitor sighs. “Really?” She says to herself, exasperated. A beat later she remembers there are still people in the hall waiting for judgment. Ugh. “I sentence you to a private meeting with my advisors. That should be punishment enough.” She grumbles that last bit, standing from the throne and slamming the door to Josie’s office before anyone can say anything else.

Less than a moment later, Cullen is escorting the guards into the room, Leliana and Josephine following close behind. Lavellan motions to the couch and the guards sceptically discard the elf there, leaving when dismissed.

The two elves commence a staring contest that lasts a whole five minutes before Josephine interrupts with a “What in the name of Andraste is going on?!?!”

Instead of an explanation, the next words to be spoken come from the strange elf man, who says, “What, no kiss hello?” Sending an amused glance at the Inquisitor, who promptly connects her face with her palm.

“Josie, Leliana, Cullen, this is Graylynn of the Lavellan Clan. Gray, why are you here?”

“I need a reason to visit my wife?”

Everyone bar the two elves gasps. Josephine looks sufficiently hurt and confused. Cullen looks twice as much confused. Leliana straight up laughs.

“You’re married? To a man?” The Inquisitor has literally never seen Leliana smile so widely.

“Yes.” She grumbles. “Unfortunately.”

Graylynn grins. He looks like he wants to continue teasing the Inquisitor, but instead he just tugs her over to sit next to him. She pouts, but concedes, letting the taller elf wrap an arm around her.

“It was a marriage of convenience.” He explains.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” The Inquisitor leans against Graylynn with an exhausted sigh. “Gray and I married because it was easier than admitting to the clan that we’re terribly attracted to the opposite sex.”

“We weren’t married by the typical age, and some were getting suspicious.” Graylynn adds.

 “Granted, this doesn’t explain why you’re here, Gray.” The Inquisitor deadpans, glaring at her husband. “It’s not posturing, is it? Because at this point I don’t care if the clan thinks we’re in love, I’ve got bigger issues to deal with.”

“Would it surprise you that I actually wanted to see if you were okay? Darling, you left for a short trip and we didn’t receive word for months. Then I have to hear from the keeper that my bloody best friend, excuse me, ‘wife’ has been pulled into some shem war. I do worry about you, from time to time, Grayce.” Graylynn looks genuine, which is odd for the Inquisitor to see. And he called her by her given name, which was hard to everyone else to fathom.

Mostly because what are the odds you marry someone with a name so close to yours? But also because she told Cullen her name is Faramount’Narok’Hynn and he’s been trying to remember it for months now. Poor fool.

“Ugh, you don’t need to worry about me, Gray. And trust me, I’d rather be back with the clan hunting down animals, bathing in their blood, and leaving their bones in your bed than being here.” Grayce groans, sinking down in her seat.

“Wait, that was you?” Graylynn glares at his wife. “I thought that was Fen! I made him sleep outside for that!”

“No, that was me.” The Inquisitor grins. “So, now that you’ve seen me, you’re gonna leave, right?” She looks oh so hopeful.

“Not for all the nugs in the world.” Graylynn shakes his head. “Now that I know what you’re up to, I’m not leaving, I’m helping, you idiot.”

“But you’re the Keeper’s First! You have a job to do! And I can’t go around flirting with proper ladies with my husband nearby!” The Inquisitor is basically whining now.

“Like I’m going to let you being my wife stop me from flirting. By the way, is he up for swords?” Graylynn points at Cullen who flushes.

“Leave Cullen alone, he’s sweet!” Admonishes Grayce, swatting her husband.

Graylynn scoffs. “What and I can’t flirt with sweet men?”

“You don’t deserve sweet men!” The two fall into a squabble whilst the three advisors look on with a myriad of faces. Leliana seems absolutely ecstatic about this new development, Josephine looks both sad and very, very confused. Cullen is just a dumbfounded, blushing man-child. 

“FINE I’ll just take Ella and go then!”

“DO THA- wait Ella? You BROUGH ELLA!!!?” Now Grayce is beaming and jumping up and down, which all in the room bar her husband seem eerily disturbed by. That girl never smile sunless there’s blood running through her fingers.

“I was going to take Konig, but I figured you’d want your hart.”

The Inquisitor is sprinting out of the faster than should be physically possible. Everyone watches silently. A few beats later, Graylynn sighs and follows after her. Josephine watches the face of the nobles who had gathered for the trial as the trialled elf walks free, following after a too giddy herald who is, unfortunately, using her rogue-chain the propel herself out the open door. Maker save Josephine from this idiocy.

“Am I supposed to take this is stride or hide this?” She asks no one in particular. It doesn’t really matter because Cullen is still frozen in blushing confusion, and Leliana has done that thing where she’s just not there anymore. Great.

-

Blackwall is the first. He hears Grayce jumping around the stable next to ‘his’ barn and finds the elf standing next to her. The Inquisitor immediately introduces the two, then grabs her husband back so they can take a ride together, apparently on Grayce’s newly delivered Hart.

They return later that afternoon, and immediately hit the tavern. Graylynn finds Bull to be interesting, but finds his second in command to be _highly more_ interesting and tries to flirt his way into Krem’s pants. It doesn’t really work.

Then he meets Sera…He leaves that encounter not very happy. The two clash, yet somehow come out of the meeting somewhat new friends. Grayce doesn’t know if this is good or not. Admittedly, she was sort of already in Sera’s pants, so her meeting her husband shouldn’t have gone well. Oddly enough, Sera just found the whole situation hilarious, similar to how Leliana had burst out laughing when she heard the inquisitor was married to a man. Was she that obvious?

Graylynn gets along well with Cole. Personally, the Inquisitor had been ignoring the odd spirit since she’d brought him home from their weird Templar adventure (which Graylynn tears her up for because _why in the hell would you side with the templars_ they’re dicks!). She didn’t understand his cryptic words, or the weird way he tended to follow her around when he thinks she’s not looking. She doesn’t like the blank look in his eyes or how she can never seem to figure out what he’s doing, but he knows what she’s thinking. She hates that. Gray, on the other hand, seems to like Cole a lot. Like, it’s troubling to her to think about this…

Cassandra and Graylynn shouldn’t get along. Cassandra and Grayce don’t get along, and the Inquisitor has accepted that. But her husband is all cordial and polite with Cassandra and it’s super annoying. He’s an arse to Grayce, and she’s his wife! Ugh, and Cassandra seems all charmed and she blushes a bit, which is so annoying. She drags Graylynn away from the Seeker. He just seems amused.

Varric does not need to meet Graylynn. Varric does not need to meet anyone, he witnessed the whole trial scene. Grayce doesn’t want to deal with him. She pulls her husband into the library and immediately regrets it.

Ugh, of all the things, her husband gets along swimmingly with Solas, who Grayce has decided has no redeeming features, and is absolutely useless in a proper fight. He’s a prick, and doesn’t deserve Graylynn’s intrigue…Or attempted attractive gazes, because fuck it if she’s going to let that egg-headed hermit and her husband hit it off. She is not subtle about her feelings towards Solas, and yells loudly at him as she pushes Gray up the stairs, shouting threats at both of them.

Dorian’s not in his normal nook, which is not like, a huge deal, but still kind of weird. So Grayce makes the horrible mistake of introducing Graylynn to her good friend Vivienne, forgetting that Vivienne stands for just about everything Graylynn hates about the Circles. The conversation ends with a barely contained fight, only broken up by a carefully placed dagger, and a frozen arm, with the Inquisitor tugging her shouting husband over the side of the balcony to stop him from trying to burn Vivienne again.

They have dinner in Grayce’s quarters and fall asleep on each other in the middle of catching up and sharing stories, it’s a rather sweet scene that both would deny, would anyone ever comment on it. Not that anyone would.

-

Graylynn sneaks out of his wife’s room early in the morning, intending to explore Skyhold without her for at least a bit. The rooms are dusty, and filled with cobwebs, but there’s an infinite catacomb he finds beneath the buildings, with rooms full of old books and pointless things. He watches as the hold wakes up, sees people gathering for breakfast and training. He leaves for the library and finds it empty. Even Solas seems to be elsewhere, so he lets himself move among the books.

He's settled in a chair by a window in a small nook of the library with a pile of books, perusing through them as he tries to better understand his wife’s predicament. Ancient Glowing Hands Encyclopaedia doesn’t exist, but there are many books on studies of the fade, ones he never had access to in the clan. Shem books are Shem things.

It’s peaceful to just read in this nice little corner of a real library. He doesn’t get moments like this with the clan, too busy working and all that…Of course, he had no way of knowing that this spot had already been claimed.

“Pardon, but you seem to be in my seat.” The voice that breaks him out of his one peaceful moment in months is so terribly pompous and foreign, he almost mistakes it for a fever dream.

“I was under the impression that empty seats were free for anyone to sit in.” The elf replies without bothering to look up from his books.

“Not this one. This is _my_ work area, it is _my_ seat, _you_ are sitting in it.” The voice sounds even more annoyed and entitled. Graylynn smirks.

“Well, you’ll just have to sit elsewhere for today, I have no intent on moving.”

A huff and the sound of loud footsteps, stopping right in front of the elf. “I don’t have time to argue, I have work to do.” The elf suddenly notices the thick accent from the man, and looks up to examine him.

Damn. Graylynn knows he has a weakness for attractive men. Who wouldn’t, though, this guy was gorgeous, all hard lines, and smooth curves, and a glaring face that was actually perfectly asymmetrical. Not that he’d let this stop him.

“Have fun finding a new place to work.” He smiles unkindly. The man, who Graylynn now realises is Teven, and that just makes it worse, how dare this man be extremely attractive and also from Tevinter. It’s a crying shame that that horrible place sired such a being.

The stranger’s face curls up in anger.

-

Grayce wakes up to find her husband missing, and she knows that’s never a good thing. Somehow, she just knew it, somehow he was going to wander off and embarrass her. It’s just how he works!

Or he had just gone hunting for small, furry creatures to pet…Equally embarrassing, though, Grayce is not a fan of small furry creatures. Not that she’d tell her husband she killed off many a nug so she could make armour out of their leather, purely to spite him.

She’s horrible, she knows.

Knowing him well, she checks the stables first, then checks with Cole because he always seems to know where the cat is, and Graylynn tends to gravitate towards cats. He’s not there either, though, so she checks the library, and lo and behold there’s her husband…And Dorian…

Shit.

The two seem to be in a very intense shouting match, most of which is Dorian insulting Graylynn whilst Graylynn smirks and response with sly comments. It would be terribly amusing to watch if Grayce didn’t remember the fight with Vivienne the day before. Honestly, she should just keep her husband away from Shem-mages all together.

Whelp, here comes the chain.

It’s horribly fun to flying roundhouse her husband in the solar plexus, force increased by her chain anchoring her to him. Of course, he knocks his shield in at the last second, but the impact of the two landing on the floor is still enough to make him cry out.

Wuss.

“Morning sweetie.” The Inquisitor grins, straddling her husband’s chest

“This is a lovely way to greet me.” He grumbles, craning his neck to glare at her.

“Morning Dorian.” The Inquisitor ignores the man below her and looks up at the Shem staring at the two of them in confusion.

“Do I _want_ to know?” The mage’s question is mostly rhetorical as he offers Grayce a hand in getting up, visibly wiping it off when she let’s go, probably because there’s still blood on it from…Whatever he doesn’t want to know about it.

“This is my husband.” She chirps, watching Gray struggle to his feet.

“Unfortunately.” His voice drips with derision as he glares daggers at his wife.

“This is Dorian. Dorian, this is Graylynn.”

“…I’d say pleasure but I’d be lying.” Is the elf’s only response.

“The sentiment is mutual, I assure you.” Dorian responds. The two glare.

…

“Wait, did you say husband?” Dorian suddenly seems to process her words.

Grayce beams and throws and arm around Graylynn. “Yeah, can’t you see, we’re a perfect pair!” Her voice is so peppy and sarcastic, it makes Dorian cringe.

“Naturally.” He deadpans.

“Anyways, couldn’t help but notice you two weren’t being too nice to each other. What’s up with that?” The Inquisitor sounds relatively nice about this statement, but the look in her eyes is murderous. Lovely.

Neither of the two men seem interested in answering her, though. They avoid eye contact, crossing their arms like children. Seriously?

“Solas!” The Inquisitor shouts, looking over the ledge of the balcony. Said hermit doesn’t even look up at her.

“Your husband was sitting in Dorian’s preferred chair and rightfully refused to give it up when he threw a tantrum.” Solas promptly leaves the room, a pile of books under his arms as he presumably looks for a quieter place to work.

“Seriously you two?” Grayce glares at the two mages in front of her.

“I’m not going to get up just because some Tevinter shem tells me to.” Graylynn shrugs.

“Is that what this is about? Me being Tevinter? I didn’t know people were so damn bias is the south.” Dorian huffs.

“It’s not bias. I just refuse to listen to some random shem, especially when he is from a place that enslaves my race, and has historically treated elves like shit.” Graylynn practically spits, glaring daggers at Dorian.

Grayce sighs. “Gray…You can’t just assume he-“

“Just because I’m from the Imperium doesn’t mean I’m a racist, arrogant prick. Honestly, slavery isn’t even the same in Tevinter. Down here it’s disgusting and harsh, back home a man can buy himself or sell himself in slavery, earn a wage, feed a fam-“

“Shut up.” Graylynn’s voice is cold, so much that even Grayce flinches. She doesn’t know how her husband managed to grab her dagger from her boot, but it’s now in his hand and pointed against Dorian’s throat. “You don’t know shit.”

“Well neither do you! It’s not like you’re a slave.”

A beat of murderous silence before Grayce is yanking a raging Graylynn away from Dorian. She throws him back, watching as he hisses and storms off.

The Inquisitor looks at Dorian with immense disappointment before turning on heel and following her husband.

-

“What was that about?”

Graylynn is sitting on the ledge of the highest ramparts, staring down into the clouds that surrounds the mountains of skyhold. The Inquisitor steps up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” She’s never seen her husband so despondent before. Angry? Yes. Solemn? Naturally. But now his voice is so hopeless, devoid of emotion.

“I know you’ve never agreed with Tevinter practices, but…You made it sound personal.”

“You’ve been gone a long time, darling.” Her husband places a hand over hers. “Shevanni was taken by slavers about a month back.”

“What?” Her voice is quiet. The Dalish were relatively protected by their ways. No one liked them, but mostly they were left alone, as long as they stayed in the wilderness. Their Vallaslin had kept slavers away from them, as it marked them and ‘tainted’ them, making them lack value for the slave trade.

Only a desperate man would capture a ‘feral’ elf.

And even so, Dalish were well known for going huge lengths to keep their clans safe. Traders wouldn’t go up against a Dalish clan unless they were unholy desperate, or suicidal.

“Remember? Shevanni hasn’t been able to get her Vallaslin due to her curse. She was old enough to look like a city elf. Her and Marin were sent to town to get some medicine for the Keeper. They had guards with them, but…They got her.”

Grayce freezes. She’d never imagined one of her own clan being taken for the trade.

“It’s selfish of us to ignore the dangers our kind face just because the Dalish are protected of them. I tried to go and save her, but…The Keeper forbade it. She even fed me a sleeping drought to keep me from putting myself on the line.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry…I should have been there. To help you.” It wasn’t their façade of a marriage that made her think this. They may not love each other as husband and wife, but they had always been partners. It killed her to think that she could have prevented this.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything…” Grayce reaches out to wrap her arms around her husband, tugging him close.

“I should have been there anyways. I’m so sorry, Gray.” She murmurs.

“When all this is done, all this Inquisition stuff, I’m thinking…I want to do more to stop the slave trade. The Dalish don’t care enough. It’s horrible…”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

-

The tension between Dorian and Graylynn is palpable in the next coming days. The elf goes out of his way to annoy the Tevinter mage; sitting in his nook, taking the books he knows Dorian was using, spending an unnecessary amount of time in doorways. Dorian, in return, talks pettily about the elf behind his back, and spreads vicious gossip.

Despite this, things start to run smoother with Graylynn around. Apparently, he is the only being in existence who can keep the Inquisitor focused. Typically she was an impulsive mess. Her fighting style was nothing like a rogue should be, preferring to cry out in battle as she sails towards her enemies on her favourite chain, spinning her daggers into their necks and laughing as she coats herself in blood. Many a time she could be found spending her free time hunting and skinning innocent animals, so often, in fact, that the Inquisition’s supplies of fresh meat and leather were covered by her hobbies alone.

Apparently, Graylynn was the opposite of her in almost every way. Where she was impulsive, he was tactical. Though she took great glee in murdering small animals, he was obsessed with them, spending his free time playing with cats, or nugs, or halla. She was loud and boisterous, he quiet and observing.

They both held quick tongues, though, and their conversations were chock-full of sarcasm as Graylynn would berate the Inquisitor for her horrible leadership tactics. Her downright insanity was matched evenly by his cool head. In another world, most could see why the two would be a perfect couple. They were in sync, despite their differences.

Grayce couldn’t be impulsive and reckless around her husband, citing this as one of the reasons she hates having him around. She doesn’t kill animals recreationally because she knows it makes him sad, doesn’t have to make bad decisions because he’s there to help her. In return, she is his confidence. Over the next few weeks, people began to get used to the elven mage following around the Inquisitor, spending time in the library, and tending to the stable animals.

Grayce didn’t like bringing her husband on missions. For one, if she brought him along she couldn’t bring Dorian or Vivienne with her lest they try to kill one another, which left her Solas as her mage, and considering how much she hates Solas, and her determination to keep the two away from one another, that’s not an option. If she wants a good mage on her team, and her husband, it doesn’t really work.

Graylynn is a mage, it is true, but he’s not too wonderful in a fight. He focuses on elven magics, and entropy; magic from decay. Grayce always thought it was like necromancy, but Dorian had explained that necromancy was a manipulation of spirits, whilst entropy was connected to the visceral energy of living beings, the actual make up of dying matter, something something, the conversation was boring. Regardless, it meant he was either too dangerous in a group, or not enough. Graylynn had pointed out himself that primal magic is the only magic worthy of a good fight.

Apparently Dorian and Vivienne agree with him on that front, if nothing else.

So she leaves her husband behind on her excursions into the Hinterlands and what have you, hoping that she won’t return to Skyhold to find the place in ruins.

-

Attending the ball at the Winter Palace was the worst idea anyone had ever suggested. For one, Josephine let the Inquisitor choose her group for the night, so she had chosen Dorian, the Tevinter mage, The Iron Bull, Qunari spy, and Sera, who is…Well, _Sera_. Josie considered this to be a huge lapse of judgement on her part, but fortunately the Inquisitor’s husband would also be attending…Not that that made things easier.

It’d been hard enough at first to run quality control back when Graylynn first arrived. Most people didn’t even know Dalish elves married, and preferred not to think about it. Actually, anything about elven culturally was generally avoided. Their racist views were already difficult to deal with, the added spouse made things complicated. Then there were the open rumours about the Inquisitor ‘knocking boots’ with Sera, and things were going south from there. This was more of Josephine’s clever attempt at a PR scheme than them trying stop an assassination.

The plan had originally been for the whole Inquisition to wear the same outfit, but that plan was thrown out the window with Graylynn’s introduction. Instead, The Inquisitor would be wearing a white and her husband wearing black. The inner circle were wearing the original red outfits, whilst the Inquisitor’s awful group choice would be wearing dark blue. The colour coding was, according to Josephine, ‘necessary to separate the Inquisition’s social classes, but keep us united.’ Orlesians were real big on social classes.

Not that no one complained about the outfits. Lelianna was bereft that they couldn’t wear pretty gowns, as they were inconvenient for fighting. Josephine thought the same, though Cullen didn’t want to attend at all. Vivienne was mostly just annoyed she wasn’t invited, but Grayce had be adamant about keeping her and Graylynn from murdering one another.

Bull just didn’t want to wear a shirt, but he wasn’t getting away with that scheme.

Naturally, everything started going south before they even entered the building. Grayce lost it when a noblewomen called her rabbit, and continued to insult Duke Gaspard straight off the back. Upon their entrance, well…Introductions were fun.  Sera had gotten her hands on the list and changed things around, which was rather amusing. Grayce only stopped herself from laughing because Graylynn kicked her in the shin.

“And Ser Graylynn Lavellan, spouse of the Inquisitor.” That part was hilarious too, as people in the room gasped. Ha, take that losers.

Then Grayce had to run off and play detective. Graylynn was left behind to listen in on conversations, converse with the populi, and…Collect statues of halla? The Inquisitor doesn’t know how he started doing that, but she does know that he refuses to give them up, and will probably keep them above their bed for the rest of their marriage. Seriously, she had tried to explain to him she needed some to open a door and he just told her to find alternate means.

Apparently, kicking magic doors repeatedly does not open them.

When the bell tolls, signalling the start of the ball, Graylynn hunts down his wife and drags her to the ballroom, just in time to be fashionably late. He walks around with her as she must make small talk, a physical support for her as she has to threaten various assholes, which would normally be pretty easy for her, but these were assholes with power and stupid clothes. Her weakness. Probably.

The duchess asks the Inquisitor for the dance, and she’s absolutely ecstatic to turn her down.

“Would it not be improper for me to dance with you having not had a single dance with my husband?” She says, sounding mockingly posh. Sera snorts from a few feet away where she’s stationed at a table, miserable. “I just don’t think I could handle the scandal.”

The duchess does not look amused, but it’s hard to tell under the mask.

“By all means, I will allow you the first dance with her.” The lady smiles and Grayce curses herself for realising this was an open invitation to make her dance with her husband.

“Lovely.” She snarls, dragging Graylynn after her.

Of course, the two look great dancing together. Granted, they keep switching who’s leading, and both take a turn at traditional men’s and women’s roles, but the effect is rather lovely. It’s particularly helpful to make the Dalish seem less savage. After all, two Dalish elves at an Orlesian ball dancing properly? The racists in the room shiver at the contradiction to everything they know.

“I don’t trust that bint.” Grayce mutters as soon as they hit the dance floor.

“I’m not surprised?” Graylynn tries not to laugh as he dips his wife. “She’s obviously got something up her remarkably ample bosom. These Orlesian shems always do.”

“No kidding.” The Inquisitor snorts, spinning Graylynn out, then back in, holding him around the waist. They had started dancing in line with the other couples, but as the floor cleared they deviated from typical ball dancing script.

“Do you have a plan?” The music was picking up. They quickened their steps, dancing fluidly in sync.

“Of course. I’ll dance with the bitch, bait her for some information. You go tell Leliana what’s going on and then head to the garden. I have some things to do before I go to the servant’s wing.” The dance ends with Grayce dipping her husband low to the floor, not breaking eye contact as they pause for dramatic effect.

“Alright. I trust you’ll be careful.” They right themselves and the ball guests clap, some only out of politeness. Both bow to each other, Graylynn carefully kissing his wife’s hand before leading her to the duchess. “Do try not to fall in love with someone else.” He says with faux courteously. The Inquisitor has to hold back a snort.

-

The palace garden isn’t really a garden. It’s nice, but it’s not a garden. Graylynn stands at the doorway and eavesdrops on nobles, hearing more than once about his wife climbing up the nearby trellis, and sighing audibly to himself.

So much for class.

“How many have called you knife ear tonight?” A voice rumbles at his shoulder, causing Grahylynn to whip around and glare at the source.

“Not as many as you’d think.” He responds, voice thick with salt as he looks at the one and only Dorian Pavus. “Most are focused on insulting my wife. I’m inconsequential.”

“You’d think that’d make you an easier target.” Dorian leans back casually against a column, cradling a goblet in his hand as he quirks an eyebrow. “Naturally, they know if they antagonise the Inquisitor they could be majorly fucked, but her husband? Fair game.”

“I’m not nearly as weak as you make me out to be.” Graylynn huffs. He should leave. He should really leave and not stay and argue with this shem. But he was told to wait in the garden for his wife, and he just knows that if he moves form this spot she _will_ go on without him, or catching him up on the important things. He leans against the railing next to Dorian, glaring daggers at the crowds of Orlesian nobles.

“I have no delusions that you’re _fragile_ , but you surely have the appearance of a target.” Dorian speaks with the sort of nonchalance bite that Graylynn has been hearing from the nobles all night, and it makes him want to growl. Asshole.

“At least I can blame that on my elven physique. What’s your excuse?” He says instead of reverting to base nature. He’d always been a bit too animal in comparison to his fellow elves. Probably all those puppies he spends time with…

Dorian laughs. He straight up laughs, setting the elf’s teeth on edge. “That’d be an insult if it wasn’t so obviously a lie.” He shoulders himself off the column to step in front of Graylynn, a little too close for comfort. “Even you’ll have to admit every iota of my body is utter perfection.” He smirks, all smarm and confidence, and in that moment Graylynn wants to stab him.

And damn him to the gods if he wasn’t telling the fucking truth. It was stupid how such an infuriating asshole was attached to that kind of body. He was jaw dropping gorgeous, and it’s a crying shame.

Of course, he doesn’t comment on this, just glares steadily at the Tevinter man.

“Speechless, are you? I understand. I have that effect on people.” Dorian continues to smirk, and Graylynn considers casting something on him. Something like a hex or some terribly disorienting nightmare spell. He never really thinks about how truly terrifying his magic can be.

Graylynn rolls his eyes. “You’re really not that impressive.”

“Shows what you know.” Dorian scoffs back.

They fall into silence, Dorian leaning against the railing next to Graylynn, for seemingly no reason.

“How’s Grayce doing?” He asks after ten odd minutes pass.

“Not good.” Graylynn sighs. “She’d rather go trouncing around in zombie-infested muck, again, than to continue dealing with all these farcy nobles.” He resists raking a hand through his hair, having spent an achingly long time plaiting it out of the way earlier that night. “Honest, I’m surprised she hasn’t killed anyone yet. Probably the only reason is because I confiscated her stupid chain.”

“She does love that silly thing.” Dorian muses. “I’m impressed she’s gone this long without pulling out anyone’s throat.”

“She told me earlier she didn’t want to get noble stench on her nice shoes.” Graylynn chuckles fondly. His lovely murderer.

“The shoes Josephine had to force onto her feet?” Dorian chuckles as well, and Graylynn has to stop himself from thinking about how nice that sounds. Stupid vint. Stupid voice.  

“You’re probably used to this, aren’t you?” The elf adds, glancing at Dorian.

“ _Oh yes_ , my father and mother are _quite_ fond of the occasional soiree. Throw in a blood sacrifice and some _good_ wine and I’ll really get homesick.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm and malice. “The only thing I miss less than my father, aside from maybe the backstabbing politics, and moral turmoil, would be the needless posturing. Stand up straight, sip your wine slowly, and try to look like you’re having fun sober.” He sneers at the crowds of nobles, and for once Graylynn agrees.

“This showboating of wealth is pointless.” He adds. “There’s a hole in the fucking sky, but we’re standing in a garden that serves no purpose. Why?”

“Nobility doesn’t need to care about things as base as the end of the world. They think they’re better than that.”

“In the end, they’ll die just the same if we can’t stop Corypheus.”

“Yes well, tell _them_ that.”

The two fall into glaring silence as they survey the garden. Not ten minutes later, Grayce comes flying off the balcony above, landing a foot in front of the two mages.

“Aren’t rogues supposed to be subtle?” Graylynn snarks as he steps forward to wrap an arm around his wife, trying not to chuckle as a few of the nobles around them applaud.

“Aren’t mages supposed to be wise? This really isn’t the time for stereotypes, dear.” She says, pecking him on the cheek. “Look, I found out some shit. Obviously, that bint is up to something, but she claims there’s dirt on Gaspard in the blocked off wing. Personally, sounds like bullshit to me, but we don’t have any other leads, other than someone’s framing Gaspard, so we might as well go check it out.”

“Oh joy.” Dorian sets down his goblet. “I’ll go get Sera.”

Grayce and Graylynn grab Bull and they meet Dorian and Sera up the stairs, both already suited up.

“Let’s fuck shit up!” Sera almost shouts, stopped by Grayce’s hands over her mouth. 

“Babe. Covert. We’re being covert.” She says.

“I know.” Sera adds from behind Grayce’s hands, which are henceforth ripped away with a noise of disgust. “HA!”

“You licked me?!”

“You don’t normally have a problem with it.” Brow waggle.

“Children, please.” Graylynn sighs.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of cute.” Bull chimes in, gaining a glare from Grayce.

“I’m never cute!”

“Fighting.” Graylynn hisses, teeth on edge.

“Right, right.”

-

One boat-load of fights later and the gang finds themselves back in the ballroom. Surprise surprise; the duchess was the bad guy. Still, Grayce lets the empress die and puts Gaspard on the throne...Under the careful control of Briala. Graylynn wasn’t too happy that Grayce let Celine die, but didn’t seem inclined to argue right now. Not like it could be helped anyways.

After everything was said and done, Graylynn found his wife standing on one of the many balconies in the palace, leaning heavily against a railing. Almost immediately, Grayce leans against him instead, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Long day?” the mage finds himself asking, wrapping an arm around his wife.

“Waaaay tooooo loooong.” Grayce mutters, giving Graylynn the bulk of her weight to carry.

“Well, at least we can leave soon. The quicker we leave this place the better.”

The Inquisitor nods her agreement into his shoulder.

They stay like that for a few moments, focusing on the starry sky in the distance. Grayce is almost asleep when the dark haired woman she had met earlier, the so called court mage, arrived at the balcony.

“Could I speak to the Inquisitor alone?” She asks.

“I’m pretty sure if I leave, she’ll fall over.” Graylynn argues, though his expression says that even if his wife was awake he wouldn’t be leaving her alone for the rest of the night. His hand curls around her protectively, eyeing the lady in judgement.

“There’s almost nothing you could say to me that he can’t hear.” The Inquisitor mumbles from her slumber. “Legit, he knows about my lady bits than I do.”

“Fine.” The lady, Morrigan, speaks her piece and soon the two are left alone again, only to be shortly joined by Sera.

“I’ll take her from here. Come on Inky, I stole some rich twat’s shoes and I wanna see how good they are for dancin’ in.” Sera slings an arm around the Inquisitor’s shoulders, tugging her away from her husband.

Graylynn grumbles, but lets the two wander away, Sera talking animatedly to her girlfriend whilst supporting the tired little lady with an arm on her waist.

Watching his wife walk away, Gray sighs and leans against the railing, looking out across the mountains and forests that surround this stupid palace. He wasn’t particularly depressed about the death of the empress, it was just another shemlen  tyrant who had no write telling _anyone_ what to do. But something about this night struck a cord, and there was hardly anything he could do about it, just hope they’d return to Skyhold soon so he could find Solas and complain.

“Wine?” A chalice suddenly appears in his face, and Graylynn uses all his power not to flinch.

“No thank you.” He mutters, not even bothering to push the hand away.

“Smart, this stuff is shit.” The chalice is set down, and Graylynn prays that its holder will leave, but fate was not on his side. “I was hoping that this party would mean good drink, but it’s nothing compared to what we siphon off the vineyards back home.”

“What makes you think I care, Dorian?” The elf was honestly too tired to even try and antagonise the Tevinter mage.

“Just trying to take your mind off of things.”

They’re not really standing very close to one another, but Graylynn still swears he can feel the heat off of Dorian’s skin, even with all the air and fabric between them. “I’m not in need of a distraction.”

Dorian laughs jovially. “That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

“Hmph…”

They fall into silence, and Graylynn hopes that if he keeps his mouth shut, Dorian will get bored and walk away. Again, no chance.

“You know…I don’t hate you, Graylynn. I’m not outwardly trying to antagonise you.” His voice sounds slightly mocking, but genuine all the same.

“That’s a laugh.” The elf snorts, finally looking at his companion. “Not that it matters, though. _I_ am trying to antagonise _you_.”

“What did I ever personally do to you?” The confusion is real. The confusion is real, and it makes his blood boil, thinking that this man really didn’t understand why he’s mad.

“It’s not what you personally did to me, it’s what you are, and where you are from, and how you act about it.”

“I am not my country, nor my family.” Dorian narrows his eyes, seeing where this conversation is going.

That does it. Graylynn whirls, baring his teeth at the mage. “That’s just it, Dorian!” He practically shouts, shoving his hands against the man’s chest. “Yes, you are more than just a ‘vint, of course you are! But you show no apology, no understanding of the wrongs you have done simply by living the life that was given to you! You don’t care, and your apathy is just as good as actively participating in your heinous culture!” Lavellan growls, stepping closer to Dorian so he can glare directly into his eyes.

“Do you think I’m not apologetic for my previous lifestyle? Why do you think I’m here?!” Dorian growls back, stepping close as well, to the point where their noses practically touch as they hiss in each other’s faces. “I came here to help, to fix the sins of my past, can you not give me that chance?”

“Not until I see you try!”

“Well then I will try harder!”

Their shouts ring through each other’s mouths as they rally off insults and jeers, so close they cannot even see much more than skin and eyes.

“You stupid shemlen!”

“You ignorant elf!”

“Ignorant, you’re the ignorant one!”

“Baseless!”

“Tacky!”

“Arrogant!”

“Conceited!”

“Judgemental!”

“Stupidly attractive!”

No one knows who kisses first, but their lips clash harshly in more of a biting contest than a true smooch. Dorian’s hands grapple for the elf’s small hips, tugging him forward with no chasteness. Graylynn growls and throws his hands to the other mage’s hair, digging his fingers in his scalp and pulling. In return, he receives a low sound in the back of the man’s throat and is shoved into the marble railing, hips rubbing incessantly against his own.

Gasping, the two pull apart for only seconds before Graylynn tugs Dorian back in and swallows the insults he wants to fling out, filling the space with his breath and tongue in an absolutely filthy kiss, showing now restraint as he pushes against the taller man clinging to him.

Then a knee pushes between his legs and he moans, grinding down on the thigh pressing to his crotch.

It’s the moan he received in return that breaks him out of his haze, and in a sudden flash Dorian is pushes across the balcony as Graylynn scrambles away from the intimate moment, gasping and flushed.

The look he receives is more hurt than angry, which is more infuriating than the elf expects. He frantically smooths at his clothes and hair, avoiding any sort of acknowledgement of the stunned human in front of him, already taking swift steps to the entrance and running off.

Dorian stays stunned and disappointed, watching Graylynn disappear.

From the shadows, two women drunkenly giggle as they watch the two utterly screw up.


End file.
